Crack!
The terrible sound rang out like an execution through the claustrophobic underwater craft, crowded as it was in an instant, as they leapt into its open maw desperately. Landing in a heap, half untangling themselves from their less-conscious companion. A flash of pain bolted through W.M.’s head, quickly replaced by a throbbing not unlike a particularly irritating migraine, and as they blinked in the artificial submersible light as the door closed behind them they saw exactly to source of the sudden pain — their horn, trusted weapon, now snapped off from the rest of the chitin that covered their spine from the sheer force of throwing their massive body somewhere it didn’t quite belong.
The buzzing to life of an intercom followed suit, the slow, sarcastic applause crackling over the speaker as they wiggled their arms free, looked over the console, tried to remember what they’d discussed. What they remembered of what Sebastian had taught them, from time spent examining the few they’d managed to bring down. Maybe hubris that they’d expected their living weapon wouldn’t be strong enough to pierce the hides of their own Last chance.
“Well done,” came the weathered, almost smug voice, punctuated by a chuckle. “Really, you got much further than even I expected.”
Growl. It rose up in their throat involuntarily, like a trapped animal. In their heart of hearts W.M. knew exactly who was speaking.
“Oh, now, don’t give me that. I’m not a cruel man. I am merely a business man. I am not your enemy; I merely do the things other people are too soft and afraid to do. I promise, none of anything that has happened so far has been personal. Just progress.”
Their eyes narrowed; words still failed them, but the stutter of unspoken anger still danced on their tongue.
“…I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, as I’m sure you are aware,” he said, tone faux-sympathetic.
“There is just no room in my world for you.” A pause. “…And besides. Even in the best-case scenario, what do you hope to accomplish up there? Do you really believe there is anything waiting up there for you? Think about it. You’re a monster. Your life on the surface was over a long time ago, my dear.”
W.M.’s resolve seemed to falter, like slack in the reins, eyes widening, gaze growing more tired as they, with some difficulty, craned their neck around to look down at their companions — Sebastian, now evidently unconscious, drawing in ragged breaths and the crate in which Painter was contained sat silent and sad. They looked back towards the speaker with as best a melancholy, pensive expression a face like theirs could muster.
“526,” the man continued, voice not unlike a scolding father of sorts, not wholly unkind; sort of warm and familial but certainly disciplinary, punctuated by a saccharine sickness. “You must know you’d only go to your deaths. After all, look what good trying to escape did poor Z-13. You do not want to die, do you?”
“…”
“Down here, you have purpose. Meaning. Can you say the same about your life on the surface?”
What if I don’t want meaning? A purpose? Some grand reason for which to exist, to fulfil? All I’ve ever wanted is to live. To exist and to be known as myself.
“I trust we can work out a good deal, 526.” He said. “I really must insist, I am not a cruel man. Not by nature, anyway. We needn’t be adversaries. How about… hm.” Another lull in the conversation, as he mulled over his choice of words. “…Well, we can certainly work on the terms of conditions under less dire circumstances, but at the very least, I’m willing to work with you on them. How does a re-evaluation of your living conditions sound, for a start?”
A protracted blink. “…And what about them?” W.M. croaked, gesturing towards the rest of their group with their beak.
“I fear the worst for Z-13, after all this. But if it is any consolation, I can assure you we can give it our best shot.”
“And…” they thought for a moment. Speak his language. Draw him in. “What of 779?”
A mild, suppressed noise that could mostly be interpreted like a groan came through the speaker — that angered W.M., though they didn’t show it. “Well, we do very much appreciate its very efficient help with our finances, so I cannot — though I wish I could — promise you anything in that regard. Though I suppose, if it be so necessary, we could perform the repairs on its personality drivers. So long as it doesn’t attempt to fry them again, that is.”
“And if I don’t accept your deal?”
He laughed. “I know you will. You are a smart girl, 526. You and I both know that — and you and I both know you don’t know a thing about how to operate this machine.”
“…I have a question, then.”
“I’m not telling you how to operate this vehicle, 526.” He laughed. “But I appreciate the good humor.”
“That… well, that wasn’t it.”
“Ah. Then fire away.”
“How are you even able to see us, in the first place?”
“Your clever friend very much planned ahead — but unfortunately, that scrambler of his doesn’t work in here. The submarine communication network is off-site. A different frequency — it’s all regular technology. Quite simple, I assure you. Does that answer your question?”
“I suppose.” W.M. replied, letting out a weary sigh as they fell silent, looked back towards the console.
“Come now. You care about your friends, don’t you?” The man insisted. “You’re not a monster.”
Orange eyes burned, finally caught what they were looking for — a set of buttons, one dark and the other lit up in a vibrant green, emblazoned rather conspicuously with bold text that read, plain as day, AUTOPILOT. The other — MANUAL. In fact, as they got a better look at it, scrutinized it more closely... the dashboard seemed much less daunting than the man made it out to be; logically, everything had its place, and the functions of certain things, at least, seemed pretty self-evident. It was not alien; indeed, not entirely unlike something they had seen before, not unlike their father’s boat that they’d taken out countless times as a child and into their later years. And to be honest, they could probably figure things out anyway; they didn't bring them down here in the first place for no reason, after all.
“You know,” they began, heart pounding furiously, cold anxiety creeping through their veins. Something stupid. Something crazy. “I thought I heard you say I was a monster.”
“…No,” he replied, though a presence at the back of his throat betrayed his denial. “No, 526, I certainly didn’t. Not as myself, anyway. I see you as you are. It’s the world who sees you as a monster.”
“See, that’s not what I heard.”
In the same breath, their arm shot out and a sharp talon forcefully slapped the MANUAL button, submarine humming to life as an angry shout came across the transmission. “526!” it shouted. “Cease this at once. This is childish!”
“Better a child than your slave,” they retorted. Strike. Pulling a lever, feeling the heavy clunk of machinery as the vehicle began to dive under the surface. The last wave of Urbanshade submersibles was still approaching, beginning to pour in like a flock of seagulls to a festering garbage dump.
They couldn’t save the world. They couldn’t save everyone. They didn’t have the means; when it came down to it, they didn’t consider themselves particularly brave, or smart, or strong. But at the very least, they could do this; they could do what they could.
“Five! Two! S-“
“Go fuck yourself,” they snarled, incensed. An extendable, strange-jointed harpoon of a claw pierced through the speaker in a flash, pulling out wires as it retracted like mechanical viscera. They could just feel the furious gaze upon them as they shot the ceiling camera one last foul look, before doing much the same to it — each time sure only to hit its mark and nothing more, as to go too deep was reckless. A calculated anger. This was… first off, probably, no, definitely, an incredibly stupid, rash decision, but there was no way in the seven fresh Hells they were going back and certainly were not about to let those they loved rot too. What a pathetic deal. Pah. Honestly? They’d sooner kill them themselves and spare them the misery.
…Not that they enjoyed entertaining the thought.
Steel your nerves. Taste freedom.
Muffled as it was, the manic cackling and cheering from the case strapped around them was unmistakable.
Steadying their breath, pushing down the fear in their heart… they reached out for the controls — properly, this time, and—